Return of the Mustache
by IluvMonkeys
Summary: Jenny goes away for a month and comes back to find Gibbs with some new facial hair that looks more like it belongs in the Stone Age than at NCIS...again. One-shot!


_**A/n: A little bit of fluff. Not usually my thing, I know, but this is for MariskaBaby92 :)**_

Jenny stepped off the elevator massaging her left temple as she walked past the bullpen. She was surprised to find that Gibbs was aberrantly absent. Even at the ridiculously early time she had arrived into work, she had expected to see him sitting at his desk drinking that God-awful coffee. She sighed, walking past Cynthia's empty desk and unlocked the doors to her office. Her head was pounding and she had a severe case of jet lag but having been gone for nearly a month to handle the arrangements for her mother's now rapidly advancing Alzheimer's, she knew there would be things to sort out.

_It wasn't that she didn't trust Leon. They just did things _differently_, but if he had done anything to her office…_

She flipped the light switch, nodding in satisfaction when everything appeared to be the same; at least at first glance anyway.

* * *

Later that day, she was right in thinking that there would be a lot to do. She had not ventured out of her office all day. The only other face she had seen was Cynthia when the younger woman had brought her lunch.

She rolled her eyes when she heard the oh so familiar sound of Cynthia's protests outside her door that she had to grudgingly admit she had missed before her door burst open.

"Hello to you to too Jethro," she murmured, smirking as she signed her name to a file.

He strode across the room and when she looked up it was to her credit that she only gave a small squeak of surprise. As she had expected, Jethro stood in front of her desk; however, he had quite unexpectedly grown out his mustache and beard again as well as his hair. The hair she liked; the offending squirrel on his lip and the prehistoric era beard, not so much.

"Jesus, Jethro, you scared me," she breathed, then narrowed her eyes at his offending new facial hair.

"You losing your immunity, Jen?" he teased, and she glared.

"No, you just look like a caveman," she shot back. "Why on earth did you allow that _squirrel_ to take residence on your lip?"

"It's a mustache, Jenny. It isn't that serious."

"Oh, it is very serious," she laughed, sitting back up in her chair once more and placed her glasses on her face. "I can't have my lead agent walking around looking like a homeless man."

"Jen, the warrant," he demanded testily, and she arched a brow.

"Just what is this warrant for?" she asked, peering at him over her glasses. "And why can't you get it yourself?"

"We have a suspect and we need to search the house, but we need to do it fast and warrants happen faster when the director does it."

"Fine," she sighed, and he turned to leave.

He stopped on the other side of the door when her voice rang out through the small crack of space left in the doorway.

"Shave the mustache, Jethro!" she yelled, and he fixed Cynthia with a glare when she laughed softly.

* * *

In fact, he did not shave his mustache or the beard for that matter, so three days later while he sanded his boat, he heard the clicking of heels on the floor above him.

He looked up to see Jenny making her way down the basement stairs.

"You're shaving that thing off your lip, Jethro," she said authoritatively and he snorted discerningly.

"Why do you mind it so much, Jenny?" he asked, altogether quite amused now, but his interest peaked at the smell of Chinese food.

"How can you not mind it?" she shot back. "There is a small and furry thing on your lip. You look like the damn GEICO caveman aged thirty years. I go away for a month and come back to this."

"You calling me old, Jen?" he laughed, sipping from his tumbler of bourbon. "You bring Ming's?" he asked, nodding toward the bag of food she set on his bench.

"You _are _old, Jethro," she quipped, smiling sweetly. "Now, shave it _off!_" she growled. "Then, we can eat."

"You trying to bribe me, Jenny?" he asked, smirking, and she gave him a look as if to say, 'So what if I am?'. "You do it," he shot back petulantly.

"Fine," she acquiesced primly, and produced a can shaving cream and a razor from the bag she had brought with her, and she smiled triumphantly upon seeing the brief look of disbelief cross his eyes.

He sat on the base of his boat and crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing her expectantly as if daring her to actually do it. She sat beside him and smoothed the shaving cream over his face, laughing softly.

"You look like Santa Clause," she murmured, voicing her thoughts and he glared.

She tilted his face toward her and was suddenly reminded of being in much the same position eight years ago in Paris. She met his eyes briefly before focusing a little to intently on her task. By the expression on his face, he looked to be in the same memory.

He was in fact, and was assaulted by flash backs at the gentle touch of her petite hands. Her free hand slid to the back of his neck and he had to keep himself from tensing up.

"You aren't afraid I'll cut you," she murmured, smirking with a teasing look in her eye.

"Never did it before," he replied before he could think what he was saying, and after a moment of shock, he was relieved to see a small smile playing at her lips.

"Well, I was helping you cause the FBI grief then; not dealing with the aftermath," she laughed, dragging the razor over the last off his scruff. "Better," she praised, patting his cheek.

Any potential "moment" was interrupted by the sound of his front door opening and closing.

"Gibbs?" Abby called, and Jenny's eyes widened in panic.

"What?" Gibbs demanded, looking at her as if she were crazy.

"It isn't exactly commonplace for your boss to be sitting in your basement at twelve a.m.," she hissed, but any plans to hide were immediately deemed moot when Abby's platform boots appeared on the steps.

The Goth walked down the finicky basement stairs, and Gibbs came into view with the Director sitting beside him. Abby knitted her brows at seeing the two of them sitting an awkward distance apart: as if they had been closer and scooted apart to hide something.

"Hi, Director," Abby greeted in suspicious confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I had to ask Gibbs about a case," Jenny supplied lamely, and Abby nodded disbelievingly; she saw no files in either of their hands, only the fragrant bag of Chinese food between them.

"Gibbs! You shaved your beard!" she gasped. "I'm glad. You look much better this way. You kind of looked like a caveman before, you know?"

"Abbs," he cut off her rant, and she smiled apologetically.

"I need you to sign off on this. I knew you wouldn't be asleep anyway, and you know how important chain of evidence is to me. Gibbs," she said very seriously.

Gibbs laughed, holding his hand out, and Jenny smirked from her place beside him.

He signed off on the evidence and Abby slid it back into her purse.

"Thanks," she said, and then turned to Jenny. "Good night, Director."

Jenny looked up in surprise and replied, "Good night," with a smile.

"Abby?" Gibbs called as she disappeared up the stairs, and she waved her hand already knowing what he was going to say.

"I know; I won't start any gossip. I'm not Tony you know," she called, and Gibbs laughed softly.

* * *

Jenny blinked her eyes as she woke and squinted at the sun peeking in through the blinds. She gasped and jumped up as she realized that sun meant morning, and morning meant work.

"Oh my God," she mumbled, running her hands through her hair, but she slowly relaxed upon remembering that she did not have to work that day. As that concern faded, she looked around and realized that she was not in her own room. The sheets smelled faintly of bourbon and coffee and she immediately knew where she was.

She slipped out of the bed, shivering a little as her bare feet met the cool, hardwood floor.

Gibbs looked up several minutes later at hearing the slapping of feet against his floor, and Jenny appeared in the doorway dressed in his NIS t-shirt, the hem hitting mid-thigh. He had been the one to dress her in it when she had fallen asleep the previous night, but seeing her standing in his kitchen wearing said shirt brought on a feeling of déjà vu.

She smirked, and grabbed his coffee from the counter.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," she quipped, taking a sip from the cup, but pulled a face having temporarily forgotten just how strong he liked his coffee.

She set the cup back in front of him, and leaned back against the counter. She knew that whatever they were doing should worry her. It should unnerve her. They were walking into familiar territory, and that wasn't necessarily a good thing. The only difference between their relationship now and the relationship they had before was that now, she was his boss and they weren't sleeping together. Then again, they hadn't started out sleeping together last time either.


End file.
